Tears of a Clown
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: The Joker is dead. And Harley Quinn loses her mind.
1. Chapter 1

**Tears of a Clown**

She remembered the instant her life had ended. She remembered every detail of it so clearly that it seemed as if time had slowed down just so she could notice everything. She remembered her life up until that point, the feeling of certainty, of security, that same feeling of happiness and reassurance that made her smile as she stood outside the movie theater, gazing proudly at the writing in big letters on the marquee _Joker: The Immortal. _No one could put on a show like her puddin'. Bat-brain was in there with him now, and they were probably having one of their battles, with Mr. J soliloquizing and joking, running the show as usual, and the Bat as the supporting act, who would jump and dance on cue, like a trained monkey. Mr. J had set all this up – well, not that he had intended to get sick, of course. But once he realized he was, he immediately began making plans, plans that would not only save him from this terrible disease, but also make him into a man who would never be able to die. Yes, the past several months had been so stressful, so horrible, so uncertain, but they were all over now. The Bat had found the cure, and Mr. J was going to get it, and everything would go back to normal. And Mr. J would live forever, and never leave her. Not ever.

She smiled at the thought. The door to the movie theater opened at that instant, and a figure stepped forward, cradling another figure in its arms. Harley saw who it was, and time suddenly stopped. Her life stopped. She died in that instant, that moment of realization, that the figure Batman was carrying gently in his arms was her puddin', her Mr. J. And he wasn't immortal. He was dead.

She couldn't react. She felt as if she had died too, frozen to the spot, hands held over her mouth, clasped in a kind of prayer, as if begging whatever god could hear her for this not to be true. Batman didn't look at her as he carried Joker's body over to a police car, laying it down on the hood. He didn't speak as he turned away and strode off. For a moment, everything was still. And then the pain sliced through her, sudden and agonizing and overwhelming.

She shrieked, throwing herself forward and embracing the body tightly. "No!" she screamed in agony. "No, no, no! No, no, please, oh God, please, no, Mr. J!" she gasped, shaking him gently. "C'mon puddin', wake up! Oh God, please, please wake up! You can't die, baby, you can't, you promised…you promised you wouldn't leave me, puddin'! Oh please, Mr. J, this ain't funny! This ain't funny, puddin'! Oh God, no! Please, please no! Mr. J!"

She felt herself being dragged away from him, although she fought and struggled desperately to cling on. "Mr. J!" she screamed. "You can't leave me, puddin'! You can't leave me alone! Mr. J! Please don't do this, puddin'! Please don't…oh God, Mr. J!"

She didn't remember anything after that, for the agony ripped apart her mind and all she could remember was pain. Sharp, stinging, burning, freezing, choking, agonizing pain, flooding out her vision and her voice, drowing her in red. She dimly remembered a cell, probably some psychiatric ward, because the next thing she remembered was a voice calling a name. A name unfamiliar to her.

"Dr. Quinzel? Dr. Quinzel? Harleen? Can you hear me?"

"Call me Harley," she murmured. "Everyone does."

A sigh of relief. "She's conscious, at least. And responsive. Dr. Quinzel, you can hear me, can't you? Respond if you can."

"Harley Quinn," she whispered. "My name is Harley Quinn."

Silence. "Dr. Quinzel, you've had a terrible shock, but you're better now," said the voice, quietly. "You need to try to relax…"

"Puddin'," she breathed suddenly, sitting up with a start in the hospital bed. "Where's Mr. J? Where is he? What have you done with him? He's fine, isn't he? It was all a gag, right? Had to be, of course it was! Mr. J couldn't be…couldn't really be…"

Silence again. "Dr. Quinzel, the Joker is dead," murmured the voice, quietly. "His body is currently housed in the hospital morgue. But I don't recommend that you think about…"

"He ain't dead!" she shrieked. "He can't be dead, he promised me he'd be ok! This is just a joke, but it's not funny, and he needs to cut it out right now! He ain't…"

She choked on a sob. "Dr. Quinzel…"

"It's Harley!" she shrieked. "Harley Quinn! You get it?! The Joker's Harley Quinn! And I don't believe he's dead! You're lying, you're all lying, just like doctors always do! I don't believe it! I won't!"

"Harley…"

"I wanna see him! Now! I won't believe you until I see him! My puddin' ain't dead! He can't be dead! He's gonna live forever! He's gonna be Joker, the Immortal, and then you'll be sorry for saying crap like that about him! He'll make you pay! He'll make you all pay!"

The doctor who sat by her bedside shared a look with the two guards also standing by, and nodded. "I think it would be best if she confronts the truth. The sooner she accepts it, the sooner she can begin her recovery. Right this way, Dr. Quinzel."

There was a guard on either side of her, following the doctor, as he led her down the hospital corridors and into the morgue in the basement. Opening the door, she smelled death. She was used to that smell – Mr. J often killed henchmen randomly for no reason, and sometimes she just left the bodies there for a few days because she had better things to do with her time than clean up after him. The other smell was worse, the smell of formaldehyde, of sterile chemicals which seemed so out of place and insulting in the very natural process of death. It scared Harley, and she paused on the threshold.

The guards shoved her inside, and the doctor gestured to a slab in the center of the room. There he lay, the Clown Prince of Crime, with an eternal smile on his still, lifeless face.

Harley stared at him, completely numb. Then the pain came on again, overwhelming and agonizing, as if someone was stabbing her repeatedly in the heart. She fell backward with a sob, and a guard seized either arm.

"No, let her go," said the doctor. "Let her confront the truth. It will be painful, but pain is the only way to grow stonger, and overcoming the pain is essential for any hope of recovery. Look, Dr. Quinzel. The Joker is dead. Your mind need no longer be enslaved to him. He is gone, and you are free."

Harley couldn't respond – she couldn't take her eyes off his body. The doctor gently lay a hand on her shoulder. "I know you were a victim of his, Dr. Quinzel, like so many others. You convinced yourself that you were in love with him, but that is not true. You were being manipulated by a very clever and evil man, but he is dead now. It is over. You need no longer be Harley Quinn. You can return to Dr. Harleen Quinzel, a confident, strong, independent young woman with a life, a good life, a productive life, a normal life. There is no reason to be dominated by madness anymore."

Harley turned to him and smiled. "Yes," she murmured. "Yes, you're right, Doctor. How could I not have seen it before? My entire life has been a delusion, my love just a figment of my imagination. I could never have realized it without your wisdom and insight. Thank you for freeing me from the grip of insanity. How can I ever repay you?" she asked, hugging him.

"That's not necessary, Dr. Quinzel," he replied. "It's just a pleasure to know we were right about your rehabilitation. It's one of the many wonderful things that has come from the Joker's demise. If only it had happened a long time ago, many innocent lives could have been spared."

"Oh, there must be something I can do," murmured Harley. "It's not every doctor who's as astute and insightful as you. How'd you get to be so smart, Doc? Bet you got an awful lot of brains up there. Let's see, shall we?"

And without warning, she seized the doctor by the hair and slammed his face down onto the slab, beating it repeatedly into the metal as the blood flew everywhere. The guards rushed to pull her away, but she dodged them, leaping up to kick one in the face and punching the other. She seized one of their knives and threw it into the throat of the nearest guard, then slammed the other's head back with her foot, delighting in the satisfying crack as his neck broke. Then she ripped the doctor's head up again. "Who's the victim now, Doc?" she hissed into his ear. "Feel stronger now, do you? You deserve this, you all deserve this, for letting him die! You think I'm crazy now – you just wait. Mr. J's gonna be real proud of me. This is for you, my love," she whispered.

And she slammed his head down again, breaking his face on the metal. She tossed the body away, and turned once again to face the corpse of the Joker. She suddenly started laughing hysterically. "That was just smashing, huh, Mr. J?" she laughed.

She stopped laughing just as suddenly as she had started. "Yeah, yeah, I know I'm not funny," she murmured. "Not like you, puddin'. Always joking, always smiling, always making me laugh, what am I gonna do now? I don't think I'll ever laugh again. You wouldn't want that, would you, puddin'? You wouldn't want me to ever stop smiling, would you, baby? But see, the thing is, Mr. J, it just hurts so much. Not like when you hurt me, puddin', that kinda hurt I enjoy, but this is real bad. I think it will probably kill me in the end. You wouldn't want that, would you, puddin'? You wouldn't want me to die, not when I have…not when I have…your baby inside me, Mr. J," she murmured.

She knelt down next to the slab. "See, I know I gotta live, Mr. J," she murmured, stroking back his hair. "I gotta live for little J.J.'s sake, and for your sake. Gotta get revenge on the doctors, the cops, the Bat, all of them, for you. But the thing is, puddin', I don't know if I can. I don't know if I'm strong enough to survive without you. And I don't just mean emotionally, although I don't know about that either. But I mean…I mean physically strong enough to survive…see, the truth is…the truth is…I'm scared, puddin'," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes.

"I was never scared with you, baby," she murmured. "When I was with you, I was safe and sound. You looked after me, puddin', and protected me. But now that you're gone, the guys…the guys don't respect me, puddin'. They never respected me, 'cause they were never really afraid of me, not like they were of you. They think I'm just your dumb blonde floozy. I've heard them talking, when they thought I wasn't listening. They think I'm crazy. No, worse, they think I'm stupid. Just like everyone else. They think I'm…"

She sobbed. "You were the only one, Mr. J," she whispered. "The only one who never thought I was stupid. You were the only one who understood me, and respected me, and trusted me enough to depend on me. I'm so sorry I let you down, baby. I didn't mean to…if there was anything I could have done…I…but there wasn't, baby. I couldn't help you, I couldn't save you, not from this," she whispered, touching his face. And her eyes narrowed suddenly.

"But I can help you now. I can be strong. I can avenge you. I will, puddin', I swear it. For your sake, I'll find the strength to live. For your sake, and your baby's sake, I'll live the rest of my life. But I'll always be yours, puddin'. The Joker's Harley Quinn, now and forever. And I won't fail this time, baby. You can trust your Harley girl."

She climbed up onto the slab and lay down next to the corpse. She gently put one of his arms over her, and cuddled into the still, cold, lifeless body, burying her face in his chest. It was terrible not to hear a heartbeat, not to feel his breath, to not be clasped gently by a living, breathing, warm person but rather to be weighed down by a heavy, ice cold corpse. But there was his smiling face, still and peaceful, as it always had been in sleep. His eyes shut, his red lips turned up in a grin, as beautiful as ever. Harley kissed his cold lips tenderly, then snuggled into his chest as she tried to ignore the icy coldness that surrounded and penetrated her body. "Goodnight, puddin'," she whispered, shutting her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Her eyes snapped open suddenly as she heard a noise. Slowly, stealthily, her hand slipped under her pillow as she forced her breathing to remain low and normal, as if she was still asleep. The slow, careful footsteps drew nearer, and Harley clasped her hand gently around the handle of the gun, waiting.

A weight fell on top of her suddenly, clumsy and heavy, fumbling to hold her down in the darkness. Harley ripped out the gun and sat up suddenly, knocking the shape off her and shooting it repeatedly in the head.

It fell backward, splattering blood everywhere. Harley panted, trying to calm herself, hands shaking as she slowly reached for the light switch and flipped on the lamp.

She saw the stunned face of the dead henchman at the foot of the bed. She didn't recognize him, but that was hardly surprising - his face was basically blown off, and they all looked alike, really. All muscle and no brain. All very little muscle, she noted, looking down.

She sighed, putting her feet over the edge of the bed and burying her face in her still shaking hands. She wished they would stop shaking. This had happened several times now – attempted rape was hardly surprising anymore. But the fear still remained, the fear that made her hands shake involuntarily. The fear was the reason this kept happening, or the lack of fear, anyway. Oh sure, the men had sworn allegiance to her. After she had busted out of the hospital and returned to Arkham City, the Joker's followers had hailed her as his successor without question. But in private she still heard them, laughing at her, saying filthy, disgusting things about her, asking each other why they should listen to anything the Joker's little whore said. Betting each other who would be the first to take a ride on the Harley now that no one was around to protect her anymore. These stupid bets were the reason she couldn't sleep at night, the reason she hadn't really slept since her return. Well, that and the fact that all she could think about was how lonely and empty her bed was with Mr. J gone. She probably couldn't have slept anyway, even without the nightly attacks. She guessed they were meant to be some kinda joke, but they weren't funny. And she decided what was funny now.

"What would you do, puddin'?" she murmured, looking up at the picture of him right by her bedside. "What would you do if anyone threatened your Harley while you were alive? You would have made them pay, wouldn't you, puddin'? You would have made them afraid even to think about touching me. I've gotta do what you would do, Mr. J. I've got to show them nothing has changed, that you still command respect, and that no one's touching your property. What would you do, puddin'?"

She was answered with silence. Heavy, horrible, oppressive silence. She hated it. She rubbed her stomach gently, thinking of J.J., and wondering why she didn't appear to be getting any fatter. True, she didn't know exactly when J.J. had been conceived, but it must be a couple months now, and she could still fit into her regular outfits. She didn't like it. If something went wrong with the baby, she didn't know what she would do. She couldn't lose both puddin' and J.J. She wouldn't have the strength to cope with that. She'd go crazy.

She shut her eyes tightly and lay back down, rolling over and clutching the bundle of fabric on the other half of the bed. It was the Joker's old clothes, which she had piled together, so that she still had something to cling onto at night, something that was still warm, and still smelled of him. She breathed him in gently, the scent flooding her with memories, hundreds of beautiful, wonderful memories that could never be repeated. Hundreds of precious thoughts that gave her the most ecstatic joy and deepest pain all at the same time. "Oh, puddin'," she breathed, snuggling into the clothes. "Oh, puddin', I miss you."

She must have drifted off, for when she next opened her eyes, it was broad daylight. She groaned, shutting her eyes again and burying her face deep into the clothing, trying to forget the present, trying to hide from reality, trying to lose herself in her dreams and memories of the past. But as time passed, the realization that it wouldn't work, that she had to go on, gradually dawned on her, and the strength of her love forced her to sit up. The strength of her love, and her determination to avenge that love, whatever the cost, made her crawl out of bed. The determination to live, for that revenge, and for her baby, made her wash and dress, made her apply her makeup, made her return and face the dead henchman still lying at the foot of her bed.

He had a tattoo on his bicep: _Mitch_, it read. Maybe it was his name? Although what kind of moron needed a tattoo to remember his own name? Anyway, it was a recognizable and distinctive feature. Harley reached down for the knife at her belt, smiling. She knew exactly what Mr. J would do.

"Morning, bozos!" she snapped, striding into the loading bay where the henchmen were lounging.

"Morning, Harley," said one of the guys, smiling. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah, not bad, thanks for asking," she retorted, returning the smile.

"Really?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"Surprised?" she retorted. "I mean, don't get me wrong, a widow never sleeps very well on her own, but last night, it felt almost as if Mr. J were there with me again."

"Yeah?" he said, grinning. Some of the other men were sniggering.

"Yeah," she replied, nodding. "Maybe you didn't know this about me and Mr. J, but we really enjoyed violence. Nothing put us both in the mood like a little mutilation. And last night I got to have a lot of fun like that with…Mitch, I think?" she asked, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the piece of skin with the tattoo on it. "Or was that the name of his mother or girlfriend or something? Kinda stupid for him to have his own name on his arm, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You guys are all a bunch of idiots."

She threw the skin at the henchman, who leapt back, horrified. She kicked him suddenly, a hard blow to the stomach, and then seized him by the hair as he fell to his knees. "Now listen up, you bunch of creeps!" she shouted. "I ain't the kinda gal who appreciates jerks dropping in on her unannounced! I ain't the kinda gal who puts up with guys trying to force themselves on her when I ain't interested! And I ain't interested, get me?! I belong to Mr. J, and I always will, dead or alive! Mitch was lucky – I shot him in the head first. But this guy here, what's your name, sweetie?" she asked, bending over the henchman.

"Please…don't…hurt…me," he gasped, terrified.

"Kinda a funny name," retorted Harley. "Anyway, this guy here, Mr. Please Don't Hurt Me, he ain't gonna be so lucky. I appreciate your boys' concern on my behalf, really, I appreciate you trying to make sure I'm satisfied, but the truth is I ain't such an easy girl to satisfy. It takes a lotta screaming, a lotta hurt, and a lotta pain, to make me happy, but if you wanna stay and watch me and this guy here, because I know you boys like watching dirty stuff, you might even see me smile again. In a couple of hours, anyway, when I finally let him die. You ready for this, handsome?" she whispered, clicking out her knife. "Time to rev up the Harley."

And the truth was, there was a kind of pleasure in hearing the screaming, in feeling the knife ripping through the flesh, severing the bone, in seeing the shock and horror on the men's faces. In seeing the fear in their eyes. When she saw that, she did actually smile. Mr. J would have just loved this. He would have stood by, watching her and beaming at her in pride. She could almost hear his voice, and feel his hand patting her head, as she finally let the body drop to the ground. "Nice work, Harley girl."

"Thanks, Mr. J," she whispered. She looked up to see the stunned, terrified, pale faces of the men. "Now beat it, bozos," she murmured. "Mr. J and me wanna be alone. And we better not be disturbed tonight, or the next night, or the next night, or ever again. You get me?"

There was a quiet, universal murmuring as the men crept off. Harley clicked her blade shut and headed back to her room. "Thanks, puddin'," she whispered. "And you'll never really leave me, will you, Mr. J?"

"Leave you, Harley girl?" came his voice in her head. And then his laugh, his beautiful, gorgeous, incredible laugh. "Never, baby! I'd have to be crazy!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Is she ok?" murmured a henchman, as his comrade joined him on the roof of the steel mill.

He snorted. "Is she ever ok? She's always been crazy, and she's just gone crazier since J died."

"Yeah, like sick crazy," retorted the henchman, shuddering. "God, I can't sleep at night remembering what she did to Joe. And did you see the smile on the bitch's face? She's crazier than J ever was."

"They were both as bad as each other," retorted the other henchman. "But now Harley's gotta be crazy enough for both of them. And I think she's doing a good job of that."

Silence fell between them. "What was that noise earlier?" asked the first henchman. "Weren't you going to go see?"

The second henchman nodded. "Yeah. And I did."

"And?" prompted the first henchman.

"It was Harley," he replied. "She was…laughing."

"Laughing?"

"Yeah." He paused. "See…I was passing by her room…just, y'know, to see. She was holding something in her hand and laughing, laughing hysterically. I ain't never heard anything like it, not since J died. She laughed and laughed and laughed, and then threw whatever she was holding on the ground. And then she just started clutching her stomach and sobbing. I ain't ever heard anything like that either. It hurt just to hear her, y'know? I watched her until I just couldn't take it anymore, and was about to leave, when she suddenly started laughing again. 'You're right, Mr. J,' she said. 'You're right. I gotta just keep smiling, baby. Keep laughing. For you, puddin'. Only for you.' And then she left the room."

They were silent again. "And that's it?" asked the first henchman. "You don't know what she had in her hand?"

"Yeah, I do," replied the henchman, reaching into his pocket. "I grabbed it after she left."

He held it out to the first henchman. It was a pregnancy test. A negative pregnancy test. "There were tons of them scattered about the room," he murmured. "And a really creepy doll in a crib. Painted to look like J."

The first henchman stared at it. "Jesus Christ," he muttered.

"Yeah."

Silence again. "So you think she's gonna snap?" asked the first henchman, quietly.

"Can she snap anymore than she has already?" replied the second. "If I'm honest, I feel kinda bad for her. I know she's a crazy, homicidal bitch, but she's lost everything. She's got nothing left to live for, y'know?"

The first henchman shrugged. "Oh, there's always something to live for. Thing about Harley is, she's strong. She's had to be, to put up with J all these years. She'll live because she's too strong to die. Because all the crap that beats her down only makes her stronger and more determined. Harley's a fighter, and nothing's gonna stop her now. She's got nothing left to lose."

"You're a smart guy, y'know that, Mikey?" murmured a voice. They both turned to see Harley standing behind them. She looked the same – as if she had been crying, but she always looked like that these days. But there was also a strange light in her eyes, which seemed even more terrible surrounded by tears.

She strode to the ledge of the building and looked down. For a moment, the henchmen wondered if she was going to jump. But she just stood there, her veil blowing gently in the wind. Then she asked, quietly, "Are the men back here with the cops yet?"

"Yeah," retorted Mikey. "They're waiting in the loading bay. What do you want us to do with them?"

"Keep 'em there," she whispered. "We'll use them to set a nice trap for Bat-brain. He'll come to save them, but he won't be leaving. I'll teach him to let Mr. J die. You two had better go join them."

They nodded and headed down. Mikey paused at the top of the stairs and turned back. "Harley…are you ok?" he asked, quietly.

"Fine, Mikey," she murmured, still staring out at Arkham City. "I'm fine."

He nodded again and left her. Harley stared out into the distance, watching for any sign of Batman approaching. "He's as good as dead, Mr. J," she whispered. "And once he's dead, I can die too, because you'll be avenged, right, puddin'? That's all I'm living for now – my revenge. Once Bats is gone, you'll release me, won't you, puddin'? You'll kill me?"

"I promise, Harley girl," he murmured in her ear, stroking her hair. "I always promised to kill you one day. You do this for your Mr. J, and your Mr. J will give you the ultimate reward. You'd like that, wouldn't you, baby?"

"Oh yes, Mr. J," she whispered, shutting her eyes tightly. "Oh God, yes, baby."

"Kill Batsy for me, pooh," he whispered. "And then we can be together forever. I won't leave you ever again. I promise."

"Oh, Mr. J," she murmured. "I love you."

"Make me proud, baby. Make him pay."

She felt his kiss on her lips. She opened her eyes and grinned, staring out at the sun setting over Arkham City. "C'mon, Batsy," she murmured. "Come and get me."

She heard his laugh, beautiful and maniacal, ringing in the air around her. And she threw back her head and joined in.

**The End**


End file.
